


President Knapfl’s Great Interplanetary Monorail

by tenscupcake



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/pseuds/tenscupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Rose find themselves stuck on a seven-hour train ride, and run out of appropriate things to do to pass the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	President Knapfl’s Great Interplanetary Monorail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Banana_daiquiri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banana_daiquiri/gifts).



> A 'forbidden touching in public places'!fic, as inspired/requested by [allonsywobbly](http://allonsywobbly.tumblr.com). Basically there is disgusting fluff and the Doctor gets a hell of a bj. Because I felt like he deserved one ;d (and maybe because SOMEONE rudely left me hanging on a supposed bj fic)  
> AND OF COURSE, two thumbs way, way up for [Amber](http://shutupandlovetennant.tumblr.com), who stayed up late to beta this for me <3

“STOP THEM! STOP – ”

The shrieking chorus of their pursuers abruptly ceased as the huge, white door of the train whooshed, slammed, and hissed behind them, closing and pressurizing in perfectly automated synchrony.

The Doctor wheeled around, his coat billowing with the 360-degree turn such that he could almost be dancing with joy (well, wouldn’t be the first time he did after narrowly escaping death), and scanned the expansive train car. Two violet aisles stretched to the front and back of the compartment (they’d jumped in the middle), the only empty space amidst a sea of jet black chairs and fidgeting passengers. Mostly humanoid, like themselves, but a few brightly colored exceptions stood out to his eyes in a few short seconds. Three seats lined up next to tiny windows, four between the two aisles. The claustrophobic space was filled with noisy chatter and the ruckus of luggage bins being rearranged and snapped close by personnel.

Glancing at Rose, he found her still trying to catch her breath, a hand over her chest and the other on her knee to support her weight, her cheeks beet red from the mile-long sprint to refuge. She caught him looking, and her eyebrows pulled together in anger that he’d gotten them into this – vagabonds again. But he just smiled and whispered “that was close,” and the next thing he knew she was crashing into him for a tight hug, breathy laughter against his neck.

“Not to worry, Rose,” he began, pulling her elbow to accompany him down the aisle. Squinting past dozens of filled rows, scanning for two empty (preferably adjacent) seats. “This is President Knapfl’s Great Interplanetary Monorail.” He put extra emphasis on the ‘r’ in _great_ , enthusiastic about their mode of transport. “Track runs through a few thousand miles of space for easy transport to Jaxcor, the neighboring planet. It loops back ‘round the town, we can catch the return trip and be back to the TARDIS by – ”

“Excuse me, sir,” a shrill male voice called from behind them. The Doctor whirled around, placing Rose behind him with the maneuver, and turned his gaze down to the plump, tangerine-colored steward adjusting his glasses on his nose and the bowtie on his tuxedo, as though he’d just run to catch up with them.

“May I see your tickets please?” he asked, unable to hide the frustration in his tone, like he was already certain they didn’t have any.

“Right, yes.” He nodded with a blinding smile as he patted around in his coat and jacket, praying to the stars he hadn’t forgotten the psychic paper in his other jacket.

He accidentally pulled out the pocket journal he’d scribbled notes on how to construct a nuclear power source for the Galpureans a few days earlier.

“Sorry.” He laughed, embarrassed, like he really was just the obnoxious, forgetful human bloke he pretended to be until someone was in danger. “They lost our luggage on our flight from Sector Nine. So many bits of paper and things in my pockets now.” He rattled off the fabricated tale without pause, because he could sense the bloke was suspicious of their bag-less state as it was. Less suspicious if he was just an average idiot who misplaced his tickets.

“Yeah, today’s been a real nightmare,” Rose added, readily playing along with his counterfeit story. “Uhm, _love_ ,” she looped her arm around his and stroked his bicep with one hand through the layers, “aren’t the tickets in your left trouser pocket?”

He plunged his hand in down to the elbow, and fished out what he was looking for in a matter of milliseconds.

“Ah! Here we are!” He flipped open the black-bound booklet and held it out to the man with strong thoughts of first class. “Thanks, darling,” he added with a wink to Rose. Fake as their pet names were, he still quite enjoyed when they played out scenarios like this.

The short man took the paper from him, squinting through his spectacles with the document hardly six inches from his face, then glanced back up at the two of them, remnants of his distrust finally fading. Clearing his throat, he stuffed the psychic paper back in the Doctor’s hand.

“I do apologize about your luggage. Right this way, sir. Ma’am.” With an impressive gait for a creature with such short legs, he led them back the way they’d came, closer and closer to the front of the car. Where, miraculously, two empty seats were available in the center row, wedged between two other passengers. Both were human-looking and fairly unassuming, mostly just pink and brown, one male and one female.

The orange steward left them with wishes of enjoyable travels as they squeezed in between the strangers, settling into their seats with gusto, rocking the chairs back in their excitement and fidgeting with the armrests and seat pockets.

“I thought he was gonna throw us off,” Rose whispered through giggles.

“So did I,” the Doctor added, an octave higher than usual.

“If you keep this up, I’ll request it,” the bloke next to Rose grumbled. He had some level of aesthetic appeal, he supposed, maybe ten or fifteen years older than Rose, and was outfitted with freshly pressed business attire. But the bags under his eyes, scruff on his jaw, and loosened, expensive tie around his neck said he was tired from a long week of a job filled with expense meetings and paperwork.

“Sorry, mate,” Rose said quietly. The Doctor felt a mounting need to defend her rising from deep in his gut, all hot and incendiary like licks of flame burning from inside. It’s not like she was being rude or obnoxious to begin with: the bloke was just an arse. But Rose leaned against his shoulder and started stroking his forearm, drawing lines up and down his coat with her fingers, and any anger he had was snuffed out, only wisps of gray smoke in its wake.

The soft touches of her hand continued through the lead stewardess’ speal about the travel company and safety and entertainment options, and suddenly he couldn’t remember what was bad about being labeled vigilantes and chased by the local police or being stuck on a seven-hour space train ride to an unfamiliar planet. There weren’t any circumstances in which Rose _couldn’t_ make him completely at ease.

It turned out that, it was roughly the middle of the night local time, and about half the train was asleep or trying to sleep before they’d made it out of the Milbendian atmosphere. No surprise, that, because they’d dimmed the lights from the bright white of loading to strictly the pale yellow emergency lighting lining the aisles as soon as the electric hum signaled their departure. Passengers that weren’t sleeping remained occupied in quasi-silence, reading books or engaging themselves through earbuds connected to electronic devices, streaming whatever form of media habitants of 6317 liked to occupy themselves with. A select few had their eyes fixed on the dim screen in the front of the craft, playing a film he didn’t recognize in dreadfully poor definition, considering the century.

He told Rose about the planet they were headed to, and the galaxy it was contained in, for as long as he could without having been there himself, while she found as many different places to touch him as she could without risking indecency in plaint sight of the other passengers.

When her fingers toyed at the buttons on his jacket, he squirmed a bit in his chair, but the material groaned and squeaked under his weight, warning him not to fidget further lest he wake the sour office bloke.

They bounced ideas of where they were going to go next off one another but dithered on the final decision because neither of them could agree on a place – he wanted exciting and she wanted relaxing. That wasn’t too out of the ordinary, in retrospect.

They took demographics of the passengers on the train, marking down statistics of gender, species, and age groups in the Doctor’s notebook. Neither of them had anything to tune into except the people around them.

They ordered two of the ‘meals of the day’, and choked back laughter into their sleeves when it turned out to be hardly edible. Poked at it with their sporks until it was no longer recognizable as food. Enjoyed saying the word ‘spork’ to one another a few times in different accents. Got shushed by the woman next to the Doctor. Blimey, some people really got crabby when they were tired. It was public transport, for heaven’s sake! They were all simply too entitled, to expect to get a good night’s rest aboard a train with hundreds of passengers. Entitled.

And it was too bloody quiet on this train. He didn’t much care for the hushed aura of whispered conversations and light snores, reading lights and dim starlight from the windows the only light in the cabin. Or the way his unnecessarily deep breaths taken out of boredom made the stale, recycled air that much less palatable.

A couple of hours passed, and they couldn’t help from getting a bit handsy. It’d been too long already since they were alone on the TARDIS, since they’d had an evening to themselves in one of their beds.

Nearly two days.

Unheard of.

Both spent of ideas to occupy bored and overly active minds with non-amorous activities, it came as no surprise that the close snuggling and subtle touches they scraped by with for a while eventually weren’t enough. Really, it was only natural that they wound up snogging. He didn’t really know how it happened, only that one moment there were still long sighs of tedium and awkward, heated glances, and the next her tongue was in his mouth.

Not that he was complaining. It was a rather enjoyable way to pass the time.

If anything, he wished they’d thought to start sooner, perhaps they could have avoided a good number of the dragged out minutes of staring at the plain backs of chairs or the empty white ceiling they’d already endured.

It wasn’t all that fun to stay quiet, though, he had to admit. The persistent quiet reminded him more of a library or hospital than a train, and every slide, brush, and release of their lips sounded alarmingly loud against the background of the subdued cabin. Every gasped breath and tiny noise of pleasure seemed to echo in the relative silence enveloping their seats.

He pressed closer to her, demanding a deeper kiss that didn’t allow for gasps to escape, preventing their mouths from separating, stopping to the best of his ability the wet smack of swollen lips that would surely attract attention from the neighboring rows (though he’d love to hear it in a more private setting).

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers in his hair and a hot, damp palm on his neck, and turned her body against his, drawing herself up towards him, pressing her chest against the buttons of his jacket. Shifting the hand on his neck, she brushed her fingers along his jaw and cupped his cheek, holding him still and her other hand tugged at the roots of his hair, scratching his scalp and, _wow_ that was brilliant. Really bloody brilliant.

 _Too_ brilliant, perhaps, considering they were flanked by several perfectly conscious witnesses.

With the acute lack of protests from people seated near them, he was perfectly content to go on kissing Rose for the duration of the trip. And was actually quite looking forward to letting her wrinkle his suit, ruin a good hair day, and leave him with chapped, red lips. In this case, the means – the sweet candy gloss of her lipstick, the soft, rhythmic glide of her lips and tongue against his, the subtle zing that accompanied the spike in her arousal hormones – certainly justified the ends.

It was only when a hand (that, regrettably, he quickly deduced couldn’t be Rose’s unless she’d grown a third) tapped him on the shoulder that he realized he’d been filtering out the sound of someone whispering. Oops.

“I beg your pardon, sir!” a woman was as close to shouting as one could get while still technically whispering. Not without the sloppy wet sound of prying his mouth away, he turned to face the inquisitor slowly, swallowing hard with a grimace, not bothering to wipe the glistening mess he could feel on his lips. No sense in destroying the evidence of a crime that’d already been witnessed.

Scandal and disapproval were carved deep into her dark features.

“There are children aboard, sir.” Her black curls bounced with the passion in her words, though they were still restrained by her stubborn whispering.

“Yep, of course,” he whispered back, tilting his head down in acknowledgement and turning to face the seat in front of him. On not finding him not intending to resume snogging the life out of his companion, the woman left without another word. Glancing down for just a fraction of a second, he confirmed the suspicion his increasingly tight pants had been trying to draw his attention to about for several minutes now, and readjusted his coat to cover his crotch.

Never let it be said he didn’t have class.

Rose was too busy wiping her mouth and settling into her chair (also obediently facing forward) to notice his tactful rearrangement.

“Suppose that’s for the best, yeah?” Rose breathed, leaning against him again, her breath on his neck sending tiny shivers down his spine. He didn’t answer aloud, but nodded lightly as he closed his eyes and bent all his thoughts on strong-arming this very untimely physiological reaction away. Or, _tried_ to bend all his thoughts that way.

They weren’t on the TARDIS though, where there were repairs and gadgets to keep his hands and brain occupied when Rose was asleep or otherwise not in the mood. Nor were they in the company of alert people who could keep him busy talking. There was no freedom to walk or run around to clear his head, no new ground or sky to explore, no problem to solve, city to save. Utterly nothing to distract him from the soft, permeating heat of the blonde cuddled up next to him, the taste of her lips or the lavender-salt-shampoo scent of her filling his nostrils.

Well, he accomplished something, because trying _not_ to think about dragging Rose to the nearest onboard loo and having his way with her only made him harder. Not just a semi-solid warning now: a proper, throbbing erection.

The woman to his right was leaning to the opposite side, so his arm gripped the armrest between them, needing some physical outlet for the tension coiled up inside (the one between him and Rose had been put up the moment they sat down).

“Are you all right?” Rose asked, still quietly as ever. She probably thought she’d done something wrong, the way he practically shut down like that.

“Uhm…”

She tugged on the inside of his coat at his chest, trying to fit her hand in the space between to reach his chest, he guessed. To compensate for the attempt to uncover him, he held the two ends together even more tightly in his fist, shying away from her touch. She froze for a long moment, contemplating the reason for his rejection and he knew any second she’d figure it out, it was so obvious and hot and prominent he was sure half the train knew it was there by now.

“Doctor, I’m cold,” she whispered, louder than what he was accustomed to for their conversations in this context thus far.

Not what he expected.

Truthfully, it was a bit chilly in the cabin. With his superior thermoregulation he wouldn’t have noticed, but following Rose’s announcement, he realized the temperature in the air was far cooler than would be comfortable without a jumper (she was only in a v-neck today, warm weather on the planet they were currently leaving behind). Nineteen-point-three degrees.

But he knew the real reason Rose was asking for his coat, without technically asking, and it wasn’t because she was cold.

She wanted to confirm what she already knew. But, what could he really do at this point? Tell her to sod off and find her own source of warmth? Plainly confess, and get rid of the great, big elephant in the room so she’d stop torturing him? Both options turned his mouth down into a grimace, but even his thick Time Lord brain couldn’t think of a third. She had him and she knew it, judging by the singular raised eyebrow and the half of her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Fixing her with the most sinister glare he could manage without attracting unwanted attention, he angled his body towards her and started to shrug his arms out of his coat. He slouched forward to avoid jostling his neighbor, and by way of doing so, actually managed to hide the embarrassment in question from view. When Rose’s gaze drifted predictably south of his face, he was shamelessly pleased to watch the disappointment wash over her features that her plan had failed.

“Me too. Blimey, they could turn the heating up,” he joked, like he didn’t have a care in the world, playful but still subdued, only just loud enough to give them a handful of witnesses to the declaration besides Rose herself. As he draped the coat over them both, he caught Rose smiling incredulously in his periphery, shaking her head just slightly. He didn’t get cold and she was well aware of that. But he really thought it was better for her to draw the conclusion deductively than to get concrete sensory proof. Less embarrassing that way. And she wouldn’t do something so scandalous as to get tactile confirmation, not given the public situation they were in. She had more decorum than that.

He’d congratulate himself for thinking on his feet, scavenging what dignity he had left _and_ coming off looking like a gentleman, if he wasn’t doing all of it to conceal a bloody boner.

He just needed a couple minutes. It’d hardly been thirty seconds, yet. As ridiculous and human-esque as that was. He’d blame Rose, because the cosmos knows he regenerated this way – an intense fondness for physical affection coupled with a level of overactive hormones meant only for youth – for her benefit. But he couldn’t exactly blame her when she hadn’t done anything wrong.

Until now.

“Haahhh,” he suddenly gasped, too loudly, causing several heads to turn to his direction with questioning looks.

“Ahah…” he stalled, making eye contact with a man and woman in the row in front of them by accident. “Foot cramp,” he lied, just loud enough for anyone looking to hear. The answer seemed to satisfy them enough, and they all shuffled back around in their chairs back to whatever was holding their attention prior to the outburst.

Rose’s hand rested on the zipper of his trousers, cupping him through two layers of fabric.

He wasn’t sure how he didn’t see this coming; she never was one to take the subtle approach.

“I thought you were,” she breathed, the warm wisp of air against his earlobe making him shiver just about everywhere.

Breath caught in his throat and red heat in his cheeks, he lowered his hand from where it was keeping the coat anchored to his collarbone, finding her hand and closing his fingers around her wrist. Gingerly.

He tugged ever so slightly on her hand, a silent, desperate plea, but she only curled her fingers around his shaft, pressed the textured metal of the zipper just there with the heel of her hand. A flicker of anger lighting through him that she would flout his implicit authority outside the TARDIS, he pulled with a bit more force. She moved her hand, but only to create friction using the cloth of his pants, back and forth along his length. The back of his head thumped against the seat as he bit back a groan, clenching his teeth and sealing his lips closed to stay silent.

He gave up trying to win with physical strength and retracted his hand; they could hardly start a tug-of-war match under cover of an overcoat without the display being seen by other passengers. And she seemed to have an acute knowledge of that.

“How much longer?” she whispered against his throat, nose brushing against his skin.

It took him embarrassingly long to decipher her question with her hand where it currently was. The only thought running through his mind was how much longer he could last with her touching him like this before he made a mess of his underwear. What she meant though, he realized, was how much longer until this eternal rail ride was over.

“Another couple hours,” he ground out through his teeth.

She stopped touching him, finally, hand retreating to the inside of his thigh, and he exhaled a relieved breath as quietly as he could manage.

“Can you wait?” Her words were hushed and brittle, and she pressed her lips to his neck just beneath his ear.

He gulped down the air in his mouth. He was really and truly straining against his trousers now, and there was that swooping feeling in his gut, and the way he couldn’t breathe normally without concentrating effort on slowing his lungs down, the nervous shake in his fingers and the red heat flooding through every inch of his skin.

He was always loath to blame her, but if she hadn’t started touching him, he might not be in such a state. All he could think about now was how badly he wanted her hand on him again, soft and delicate and slow and suffusing love into him with every stroke. So much better than his own rushed and sloppy technique, when the tension between them became unbearable and he chased after relief any moment of privacy he could get. Yes, even what he always acknowledged was a selfish, indulgent act was transformed when Rose was the instigator. It became something… beautiful.

He really couldn’t wait.

Glancing down to see her eyes, nearly black in the low orange-ish light, he shook his head.

“Neither can I.” The words were barely audible, but she sounded relieved.

“I’ll take my coat. Go to the loo. You can…”

He was going to say ‘go when I get back,’ because there was no way the both of them would fit in one rather small latrine, and an even smaller chance they’d both get in without being noticed, and they could always make up for the solo time later.

But she surprised him.

“No, don’t, please,” she rushed out, almost too loudly. “I want to touch you so much,” she added with almost no volume at all.

He strangled the desperate whimper in his throat before it could escape. Fidgeted in his seat, half with nerves and half to relieve some of the insistent pressure against the seam and zipper of his trousers.

Did she have _any_ idea what she was doing to him?

“Please,” she said again.

He really couldn’t say no. He wanted it, too. Intensely. A scan to either side of them confirmed both members of their immediate row were turned away, leaning on their sides against their respective seats, either asleep or else trying to succumb to it. Across the aisles, one bloke was reading in the dim blue glow of an electronic device to their right. Same story with a woman to their left. Both were far enough away that it’d take a substantial amount of noise or movement to attract their attention.

“Okay,” he conceded gently. “Okay.” Quieter than the first. Closed his eyes and braced himself.

Rose pulled his coat up a bit higher, hooking it over her shoulder as she snuggled closer to him and pillowed her head on his chest. It looked innocent, like she only wanted to get more comfortable for a kip. Her eyes were probably closed, too, adding to the illusion. But she knew it gave her more room to… work without being seen, as the action had pulled the stretch of his coat over them taut, creating a private screen.

Light fingers skimmed over his crotch again and he jumped in his seat.

He needed to rearrange, have something to hold onto, or these outburst were going to give him away no matter how discreet she was. Settled for wrapping an arm around her torso, looping under her own arm and cupping one of her breasts (well, it was only fair, right?), and leaving the other at his hip, fisting in the starchy fabric of his trousers. The slow, metallic groan of the zipper was so loud to his ears that he scanned every face within range of his eyesight to confirm they didn’t hear it as obviously as he did. One centimeter at a time, decreasing the pressure, revealing just how randy of an incarnation this was.

With the zip out of the way, it took her no time at all to free him from the garments. Bloody hell, they were on public transport and his cock was hanging out of his trousers. Well, not so much _hanging_ as jutting happily in the direction of the headrest in front of him. Revealing him would be as easy as lifting the coat from their bodies, or one of their neighbors accidentally jostling them enough to make it slip. He was a hair’s breadth from being indecently exposed in front of dozens of strangers. Innocently sleeping and relaxing people surrounded them, completely unaware that one in their midst was half-naked – _ooohhhhhhh_ no, Rose was touching him now. Yep. Getting felt up under cover of a simple overcoat. In public. Gods save him, he shouldn’t be enjoying this.

Her name shared a breath with a filthy curse that he hoped only she could hear.

Fingers wrapped around him, clammy with the nerves but warm. So warm. Strangers and children aboard or not, selfish and hedonistic as it may be, he was definitely enjoying this. Carefully composing his face to mask the pleasure, he accidentally made eye contact with the steward from earlier, the one who showed them to their seats, and it only sent a thrill down his spine. The risk, the very real possibility of being found out, only made him salivate for more, for her to make him come right here and now.

He wondered, for a tiny fraction of a second, if this was just a way for him to get the high of excitement he can’t seem to go a day without, if it wasn’t really about sex at all. But she tugged a little harder on him, pulling the skin taut and sending hot chills of pleasure through his groin until his poker face faltered and had to bite his tongue to keep quiet. No, it was definitely about sex. Blimey, Rose turned him into such a human bloke in that regard.

So when the heat and friction of her hand receded, he nearly whinged out loud. Tilting his head down to silently investigate the reason for her hesitation, she only gave him a brief, suspicious smirk before pulling his coat over her head completely. And sinking, very slowly, avoiding rustling the fabric of the far-too-many clothes they were wearing, lower. And lower.

He cursed under his breath. If there was a hell, he was headed straight for it.

Nothing, still, could ever prepare him for the moment Rose’s lips closed around him. It was the same the first time as the thirty-seventh – blindingly, unbelievably brilliant. Sloppy and wet as it was gentle and warm, rippling waves of blissful heat clenching and relaxing every muscle in his body with the push and pull of her mouth. His teeth ground against one another, eyes slammed shut, his mouth on the brink of making an obscene noise. Honestly, nothing about his face wasn’t suspicious, wasn’t about to get him caught.

If he didn’t maintain some semblance of control, this wasn’t going to work. And there was no way he’d be able to stop her now… now that her… tongue was licking a slow messy trail up and down his length… pressing into veins and swirling circles around the tip.

_Holy mother of time itself._

As a quick cover, he pulled his free hand from its grip on his trousers and used it to cover his mouth, eking out a fabricated cough, a makeshiftvalve to release some of the steaming pressure building inside of him, because if he didn’t he would explode. Fuck, he wanted to scream. Or at least say her name. Groan a bit. He liked being loud, when they were alone. This body was sort of, well, born vocal, it came naturally to him, and it was never an issue for Rose – she gratefully devoured the reassurance.

He stared down at the rumpled, surface of the coat, pushing out the arm around her body, leaving enough space between her bobbing head and the surface of the material that no movement could be inadvertently detected from the outside. It was a good distraction, for about seven seconds.

Then he was only picturing it, what she looked like right now, blonde locks falling around her face, his cock disappearing between her lips, a bright glossy pink today. Beads of sweat on her forehead because it’s so hot under there right now, combined body heat and friction the insulating layers of the coat. She’d smile up at him, maybe, and he’d catch a glimpse of her glistening red tongue darting between her lips to brush along the swollen skin and she’d moan at the taste of him. It’d only be for his benefit but he’d still fucking lose his mind anyway.

He had to do something about his damned face.

But just then, the stewardess from earlier, the one that raised her voice at them for their ravenous display of snogging, started to make her way down the aisle towards them. Oh, shit.

The arm hugging Rose’s started to shake her, tugging up in a frantic motion and only hoping she took the hint that they were in danger of being found out.

She did.

Before the woman made it to their aisle, Rose slowly let him slip from her mouth and drew her head back up until the top of her hair was barely poking out of the coat. Her head was nestled against his jacket, her breathing regular despite what she’d been doing, and the undoubtedly pink cheeks and damp forehead were still hidden. It was quite a convincing performance, he thought, that she’d simply got cold, covered up her red nose with her boyfriend’s coat, and fallen asleep against his chest. He gave the woman a brief, very nervous smile and shrug when she glanced down at the ‘sleeping’ Rose and narrowed her eyes, hoping he didn’t have noticeably pink cheeks as well.

But she kept walking, heels thumping on the thinly carpeted aisle.

Well. They really needed to get on with it, before anything like _that_ happened again.

He tugged down on her arm, and she understood the message immediately.

Her mouth was on him again in half a second, tongue laving behind her lips as her mouth set up the same slow, delicious torture.

He never minded that she liked to take her time when she tasted him like this, much as he hated to admit it, it meant basically twice the minutes of bliss and, in the end, a better orgasm. But he really couldn’t stay quiet and composed for much longer, his vocal cords were ready to snap from the strain of keeping them still and his jaw was hurting from keeping his teeth clenched. If it went on longer than a couple more minutes, he was going to cave. Lips parted, eyes rolling back, moaning, all of it. He could feel it about to burst out of him any second.

Slipping his hand back under the coat, he combed his fingers through her hair until his palm rested on the back of her head. Gingerly, he started to guide the motions of her head and she responded in kind, faster dips of her head down onto his length. But she did more than what he asked for, taking him in so deep like she wanted to swallow him whole. He couldn’t stop the tiny gasp when he bumped against the ribs on the roof of her mouth.

He let go of her, then, because he had to get his hand back over his mouth, somehow. He prided himself on quick thinking, and decided that pretending-to-sleep-leaning-on-the-armrest was his best cover story on short notice. Adjusting his hips slightly so he could get his elbow on the armrest between him and his neighbor (it made him brush along the inside of her cheek and he almost exploded on the spot), he pressed his mouth into his fist and lowered his head just enough to conceal his face in shadow.

It probably looked uncomfortable, but it was at least a believable position to nod off in, in such confined spaces as they were. He finally let his eyes drift closed as he surrendered to the sensations inside her mouth: the warm lubrication covering the rough texture of her tongue, the softness of her lips. He illustrated the picture in his mind again, him sinking into her mouth with every dip of her head.

She pulled, teeth grazing sensitive skin between hollowed cheeks and _oh no this was it oh fuck…_

He tensed waiting for the inevitable, toes curled even in his cramped Chucks, eyebrows low over his eyes, his fist going into his mouth so he could bite down on his knuckles. She reached her hand under her mouth, cradling his testicles, brushing her thumb over the sensitive skin, and sunk down on him one last time… so… deep and… hot… _fuck…_

His breath caught in his throat as he came _hard_ , spurting into her mouth and stopped breathing altogether, breaking the skin on his knuckles with his teeth sinking into them. He was shaking, inside and out with the effort not to writhe and buck his hips and let some fucking noise come out of his mouth, but he did it. Managed to keep still _and_ quiet.

How, he’ll never know.

She laved her tongue over him slow and gentle as the waves of ecstasy crashed and finally receded, and lapped up every last morsel of pleasure she could before pulling away. This was obscene. He was obscene. Selfish. And frankly appalling. But he was far, far too elated to care. The fizzy, gushing warm aftermath of orgasm was trickling through his body, leaving his muscles limp and useless. His head was swimming with those nice little hormones and neurotransmitters telling him to just cuddle with whoever had given it to him and fall asleep, and he wanted nothing more than to listen to them.

Only for a moment, he scanned left and right for any signs anyone had grown suspicious, but the nearby passengers were all still doing what they’d been doing a few minutes before. Sleeping or tech-ing.

Tech-ing. Maybe he should use that more. Tech-ing.

On second thought, maybe not.

Rose emerged from the coat, with precisely the shade of pink on her cheekbones and sheen on her brow he expected.

He pulled her up for a kiss, humming softly as he tasted himself on her lips, almost completely supplanting the berry flavor of her lip gloss.

“That,” he whispered against the corner of her mouth. “Was very lovely.”

“Mmm,” she acknowledged, kissing him again, more deeply.

If she didn’t watch it, she’d get him all hot and bothered again. Rose’s mouth was downright dangerous.

“Shall I return the favor?” he breathed against her lips. She shook her head.

“I’m okay. Maybe later. On the TARDIS. I just really wanted to do that.” Her voice dipped into that seductive tone, all deep and breathy and ridiculously attractive.

“Oh, Rose Tyler.” Her name was a bit gravelly on his tongue. “Just you wait.”

He kissed her again, chuckling against her mouth, imagining all the ways he might be able to return the favor later. Hopefully someplace public.

And of course, that was the moment the stewardess decided to walk by again, and this time threatened to separate their seats if she caught them snogging one more time.

Through a few hushed words and shrugs, they decided it wasn’t worth the risk of being separated, and he started digging into his trouser pockets for some other way to pass the time.

(Thirty minutes later, the Doctor was forcibly escorted to another empty seat.)

(They both laughed about it for months.)


End file.
